“Cleaning tradition!” Mai Sheridan glances around and sees people around her are cutting wild grass, sweeping the ground, doing whatever’s typical to be worked in such activity.
The last time she was here and followed this is…
“Dear young lady!” Her mother cried, duster held firmly at her left hand. “Stop gawking there and help us clean! Chop, chop!”
“Time passes so quick.” This time, her companion snorts elegantly. How does she do that, Mai will ask later.
“Thank you for stating the obvious. Off you go. Want to remember the past, right?”
Mai smiles painfully. ‘Yes, yes, I do.”
another story related to this: gloves—faction of power. i might write the complete story for nanowrimo, but it seems like my hands are really, really full right now, so maybe later.